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I know a lot of people are (likely) going to disagree, but this game looks so ****ing good. No, not as good as the original DMC's, but let's face it, the series needed a reboot. I can't believe this game is STILL getting huge dismay because Dante isn't ****ing blonde. Well over a year and people still aren't over that. Maybe he'll dye his hair at the end of the game to make you twerps happy?

So here's a famous passage from an awesome series of novels - apologies, it requires some setup.

If you remember the Master and Commander movie, just imagine Russel Crowe as Jack Aubrey, the captain, and Paul Bettany (or any other uppity English bloke) as Dr. Stephen Maturin, Aubrey's best friend, confidant, and naval surgeon.

They had just left an island and Stephen had taken a live sloth as a companion and as a specimen for further study. The sloth took to the rigging of the ship immediately and all hands were jealous of it's 'sloth'ery.

“The weather had freshened almost to coldness, for the wind was coming more easterly, from the chilly currents between Tristan and the Cape; the sloth was amazed by the change; it shunned the deck and spent its time below. Jack was in his cabin, pricking the chart with less satisfaction than he could have wished: progress, slow, serious trouble with the mainmast-- unaccountable headwinds by night-- and sipping a glass of grog; Stephen was in the mizentop, teaching Bonden to write and scanning the sea for his first albatross. The sloth sneezed, and looking up, Jack caught its gaze fixed upon him; its inverted face had an expression of anxiety and concern. 'Try a piece of this, old ****,' he said, dipping his cake in the grog and proffering the sop. 'It might put a little heart into you.' The sloth sighed, closed its eyes, but gently absorbed the piece, and sighed again.

Some minutes later he felt a touch upon his knee: the sloth had silently climbed down and it was standing there, its beady eyes looking up into his face, bright with expectation. More cake, more grog: growing confidence and esteem. After this, as soon as the drum had beat the retreat, the sloth would meet him, hurrying toward the door on its uneven legs: it was given its own bowl, and it would grip it with its claws, lowering its round face into it and pursing its lips to drink (its tongue was too short to lap). Sometimes it went to sleep in this position, bowed over the emptiness.

'In this bucket,' said Stephen, walking into the cabin, 'in this small half-bucket, now, I have the population of Dublin, London, and Paris combined: these animalculae-- what is the matter with the sloth?' It was curled on Jack's knee, breathing heavily: its bowl and Jack's glass stood empty on the table. Stephen picked it up, peered into its affable bleary face, shook it, and hung it upon its rope. It seized hold with one fore and one hind foot, letting the others dangle limp, and went to sleep.

Stephen looked sharply round, saw the decanter, smelt to the sloth, and cried, 'Jack, you have debauched my sloth.”